


Brilliant Little Goldfish

by xikra1648



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Casual Sex, Episode: s02e02 The Hounds of Baskerville, Eventual Romance, F/M, Smut, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xikra1648/pseuds/xikra1648
Summary: You adored Sherlock, falling for him despite all logic screaming that it was a bad idea to do so.  You knew he wouldn't return your feelings, that was just who he was and you didn't hold it against him.  Still, that didn't stop you from doing whatever you could to help him.Even if that meant getting involved in casual sex.





	Brilliant Little Goldfish

# Goldfish

### Brilliant Little Goldfish

It started as the only way you knew could help him, despite the fact it was far from a genuine answer to the problem, and would cause John’s head to explode if he ever found out.  John made his opinion of you hooking up with the high-functioning sociopath known to a few fans of the blog, who clearly had the opposite opinion of your brother.  That didn’t stop you from attempting to comfort the genius as he sat at the fireplace of the inn in Grimpin Village, a half-glass of whiskey in his hand as he attempted to quell the fear running through him and find the trust in his senses he once had.

You started by sitting on the armrest of the chair, draping your arm over his shoulders before beginning to run your hand through his dark curls.  He was starting to calm down, calming a little more when you left a gentle kiss to the top of his head.  Realizing that this was no place for him to be in a moment of weakness, you brought him back to the only room in the inn you had a key for: your room.

As he sat on the bed in your room at the inn, Sherlock couldn’t help but be grateful you ignored your brother’s protests and took a holiday from work to follow them to Dartmoore.  He watched as you kicked off your black heels by the bag you packed for the trip and draped your old black leather jacket over the back of the chair your duffle bag was sitting on.  He couldn’t help but watch your hips and rear in your tight black jeans, his gaze glancing down to your legs before returning to their focus until you turned to make your way back to him.  He noticed the black and white striped t-shirt you wore, you made it a point to wear shirts with collars that would hide the scar crossing over the left side of your collarbone to the swell of your right breast but the loose fabric of the t-shirt was knotted in a way that made it ride up your thin waist a bit.

You stopped in front of the genius, about to run your hand through his hair again as he seemed to take great comfort in that, but never had a chance.  The tall man pulled you down for a desperate kiss, seeking for something to ground him, give him trust in his senses again, and you’d do anything to help.  You’d be lying if you claimed you hadn’t fallen for the consulting detective, recognizing the _sentiment_ , if you were to use his words, he held of you and your brother.  He was a brilliant man, a great man, and well on his way to becoming a good one as well.  You knew it was most likely this would be a one-time thing, and that could break your heart, but you were willing to help the detective however you could.

You let him grasp at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head before he guided you to lay back on the bed.  He sat back as he slipped his suit jacket off, tossing it somewhere, memorizing the image of you lying back with your upper half covered in nothing but a black bra decorated with lace.  He leaned down over you, pressing a much more heated kiss to your lips as you unbuttoned his shirt, struggling to pull it off of him until he pulled it off himself.  You trailed your fingers over his pale skin as he leaned back down to kiss and bite down your neck, causing you to squirm and whine in the most wonderful way.

You let out a gasp and paused in your attempts to grasp at Sherlock’s belt as he began kissing along your scar, leaving his own marks over it.  You bit your lip, nightmares from The Painter coming back until Sherlock moved back up to kiss just behind your earlobe before whispering sweet nothings to you.  That was what they were, sweet nothings.  The only way those sweet nothings would actually mean anything was if he was speaking to The Woman, and you were nothing like her.  You weren’t even close.  You were just his best friend’s baby sister, a girl who fell too hard for a man who would never return those feelings.

Deft fingers trailed along the top of your bra before tracing the lacy silk material to the clasp in the back.  You lightly arched your back to allow Sherlock room to move, but a particularly rough bite at the soft skin of your neck had you gasping and arching your back more, not noticing as your bra was undone until it was pulled off of your body.  He was far from done there, trailing kisses from your neck to your breast, lavishing one with his mouth and skilled tongue before moving to the other as he unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans and began pulling them down, kissing his way down to the waistline of your underwear as he undressed you.

The soft silk and lace of your sheer black thong only enhanced the feeling of Sherlock’s teasing of your core.  Light and slow strokes so meticulous in their placement they had you whimpering for more by the time the detective pulled down your underwear.  He pressed a firm kiss against your clit before taking it into his mouth, loving the way you jerked in surprise, gasping and calling out his name as his fingers expertly teased at your heated core.

Every time you gasped, whined sent a jolt of heat and desire to his quickly hardening erection, but not nearly as much as when you called out his name.  It was an, arguably unhealthy, possessive streak that caused that thrill but it gave him a rush of pleasure nonetheless.  It was enough to push him to the point he pulled back and finished undressing at such a speed he was practically ripping his clothes off. 

You were on the pill, it was an easy thing to notice as you were otherwise in perfect health, there was no other reason for you to be taking medication.  To top things off you showed a few of the common side effects of a woman on birth control, and with the way you were sitting up to pull him in for a heated kiss made it clear you were far less worried about it than he was.  As you pulled away, you trailed your teeth along his bottom lip, drawing a deep growl from his chest as he aligned himself to push into you.

You threw your head back with a pleasured cry as he pushed into you, lowering you to lie back against the bed once again as he deepened the marks he left on you.  His hands were moving your legs so they were wrapped around his waist as he continued to push into you. He sat back as he began to thrust into you at different angles, until he found that one spot that had you crying out louder than before.

_“Sherlock!”_

That pushed him forward more than anything, moving harder and faster as he leaned over you, propping himself up with his hands by your head as you desperately clutched at his shoulders.  In a desperation to find your grounding you pulled Sherlock down for your lips to meet, while he wasn’t about to let you take charge you couldn’t help but smirk as he groaned.  It had been almost instinctual, unintentional as you draped your arms over his shoulders and placed your hands on his back before a particularly rough and well-placed thrust had you seeing stars, causing you to scratch at Sherlock’s back.  You had no idea he’d like that, but you continued trailing your nails along his skin lightly in some places and leaving red trails in others.  A deft hand trailed down your waist before he began toying with your clit, bringing you closer and closer until you couldn’t take it anymore.

With one last cry, your vision went white as your orgasm hit, hard.  You were already sinfully hot and tight around him, but as you tightened around him in your orgasm there was no stopping him from following close behind.  You stayed still, your legs falling from where they wrapped around Sherlock’s waist to lie at his sides, your hand lazily playing with his hair.  He was leaning on one forearm, keeping from putting all his weight on little you, as his other hand was placed at the crook of your waist and his thumb traced lazy circles into your skin.  He buried his face into the crook of your neck.

For once, the first time in his life, his mind _stopped_.  It was blissful as his being was no longer about rushing to keep up with his own mind but simply about _being_ , about relishing in the few moments of peace he had with you.  It allowed him to be in _complete_ control of his mind, something he had only managed with whatever drugs he could get his hands on, yet you managed to do it by just _being there._   He was so blissfully calm, it was easily a sensation he could grow addicted to if he allowed himself.

Pulling out of you, Sherlock collapsed to his side and quickly fell asleep.  You turned to smile at him, adoring the utterly peaceful look on the face of a normally troubled man, before falling to sleep yourself.

 

The next morning Sherlock woke up absolutely rejuvenated, his thoughts crisper and clearer than ever.  It clicked in his head that he could still trust his senses, of course he could, _unless_ he was _drugged._   That _had_ to be the answer.

As he dressed, early in the morning as you remained blissfully asleep, he looked back at where you were tangled in the blankets.  Your hair was amess around you and you looked blissfully unaware of the effect you had on Sherlock.  He couldn’t wake you, instead just leaving you to sleep.  It was a well-deserved rest, you had not only conducted but corrected absolute brilliance.  So, with a gentle kiss at your temple, Sherlock left in the morning.  You expected nothing less.

You hadn’t expected him to return, or come seeking you out at your studio flat often enough you considered telling him to keep some things there.  Not because it was serious, it was a purely physical relationship between friends, just for his own convenience.  You became a conductor of his brilliance, his go-to when he was stuck and his last refuge as Moriarty caused the world to doubt Sherlock and even view him as a criminal.  Of course, you were one of the few the criminal psychopath used against the detective, despite how much he wanted to bring you to his side.

You were a brilliant little goldfish.


End file.
